


birds of a feather

by rainny_days



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Reincarnation, aiba is a good friend, jun is a good friend, kind of, preschool teacher!nino, preschool teacher!sho, single dad!ohno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainny_days/pseuds/rainny_days
Summary: in which Nino is a kindergarten teacher by day,magical boyphantom thief by night, and Ohno is his archenemy. Really.





	birds of a feather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pikamiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikamiya/gifts).



> a very late posting of my ninoexchange 2019 fic for [](https://pikamiya.dreamwidth.org/profile)[pikamiya](https://pikamiya.dreamwidth.org/) ! This was fun af to write and way more plotty than my usual fare (though still fluff-laden, because I can't help myself)

The heist begins at midnight, under a waning gibbous moon. The dim light throws the figure slipping through the glass of the twentieth-floor window into shadows, obscuring everything but their figure. As their fingers slip under the pane, pushing it up silently with the ease of familiarity, there is a soft _click_. The lights blink on, flooding the room and revealing the figure, now half-crouched on the sill.

“We’ve got you this time, Nari!” the police commissioner crows, the center of a semicircle of policemen, guns all pointing at the figure. The person raises a gloved hand, waves.

“I’ll give you full marks for confidence,” they say, grin audible though invisible under their porcelain fox mask. “But negative points on the actual execution.”

With that, their other hand flicks out from behind them, lobbing a small shape into an arc over the smatter of officers. Their eyelines follow the projectile as it hits the floor. There is a moment of silence, then, with a small _pop_ , the room is filled with the garish pink of an 80s nightclub.

“Mmmgff,” the commissioner growls through a mouthful of feathers, trying in futile to pull his feet from where they - and every other foot - had been glued to the ground. Nari winks in response from their place at the other end of the room, blowing them a kiss through their mask that leaves half of the room growling in frustration and the other half weak-kneed as they run towards their goal. The commissioner whirls around to glare at them. “What are you going all gooey-eyed for!? He’s wearing a goddamn mask!”

Nino laughs as he hears this, the mischievous sound echoing backwards as he reaches a dim hallway.

A voice rings from their earpiece: “We don’t have time for dramatics, Nino, it’s half an hour to midnight!”

He rolls his eyes. “What’s being a Phantom Thief without a little fun?” he asks rhetorically. “It’d be way too easy otherwise.”

“It’s not _meant_ to be a challenge!” Aiba protests. “It’s supposed to be a _sacred duty_.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Nino dismisses out of hand as he cheerfully pulls out a pebble from the sleeve of his kimono, throwing it down the hall and watching as several small guns from the ceiling blast it into dust. Then, he pulls out a spray-can and aims it down the path, the hiss of the spray fading to reveal the array of red lasers criss-crossing the road to his goal. ‘ _Somebody_ went all-out this time,’ he mutters, pulling out a small controller and drone from his sleeves, carefully maneuvering it between red lasers and setting off the ceiling turrets until they eventually fire towards each other, taking the devices out. Flying the little drone back to him, he tucks it back into his sleeves before cracking his knuckles, beginning to weave through the lasers in a display of astonishing flexibility and gymnastics.

“I’ll have to thank Sho-chan for those pilates classes,” he mutters, doing a small flip to reach the end of the hall. Behind him, he can hear the approaching policemen, who have apparently figured out the incredibly clever solution to their sticky mess (which is to say, they learned how to take off their shoes and socks, and Nino _really_ was going to be in trouble one day when they hired somebody who wasn’t as dumb as a brick) and have proceeded after him like the good little ducklings they were.

“Careful with the lasers!” he warns with good humor, waving a hand as he increases the distance between them. It takes him no time at all to find the room where his bounty is held (why do they always put it at the end of the hallway?), and it’s with the same sense of accomplishment he gets from beating his own high score in _Pazudora_ that Nino stops in front of the statue.

He’s not a connoisseur of art, regardless of what people like to speculate, and, as always, can’t quite say why _this_ particular work has been imbued with stolen heavenly power. It’s quite pretty, though, in his unprofessional opinion, a figure draped in impossibly delicate carved fabric, a hand reached out and fingers entwined with an angelic counterpart, balanced through some twist of physics that Nino cannot pretend to understand. Nino looks at it for a precious second, regretful for a moment at what he has to do to this piece of art, before reaching to his hip and pulls out a long, thin feather, the end sharpened to a needlepoint. He raises arm, flicks his wrist.

The feather clatters to the ground.

Nino’s head twirls around, following the direction of the projectile that intercepted his own in mid-air. He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but it’s not the stocky figure of a man half-silhouetted in shadow, folding himself out of the small vent with impossible grace and startling serenity. He is wearing a short, dark outfit that bears some similarities to Nino’s own, a shroud covering the lower half of his face.

For a second, Nino feels a pang of _longing_ so acute that he barely stops his hand from clenching at his chest, a wave of emotion that he doesn't understand climbing its way up his throat. He clenches his fist, grateful for his mask, and firmly tucks the feelings in a small _what the fuck_ box in the back of his brain.

“A fan?” Nino says lightly, forcing his heartbeat to slow. “I have to say: good job with the cosplay, really ties in well thematically. Timing-wise, though? Not so great. The fan event is _next_ week.”

The figure tilts his head, giving the impression of a smile. Nino follows the movement of the muscles of his neck carefully, ready for any sudden movements - at least, that’s what he told himself. “You won’t make an exception for your biggest fan?”

“Let me finish my job, and then we can talk,” Nino suggests. The figure shifts in a way that suggests _disappointment_ so profoundly that Nino is almost impressed, he hadn’t thought that any human could use body language to convey the exact impression of a crying puppy the same way Aiba could - apparently, it wasn’t a trick of his angelic powers after all.

“Sorry, but I can’t let you do that,” his maybe-fan says. “I need this painting myself.”

Nino raises an eyebrow, well aware that it would be invisible under his mask. “So, what, are we going to play _janken_ for it?” he asks rhetorically. His counterpart laughs, surprisingly sweet, and Nino has no other justification for why he doesn’t react faster when he sees him toss a smoke-grenade into the middle of the room.

-

“I can’t believe you _did_ that!” Aiba shrieks. It’s more of a yell, really, but his diminished stature makes it come across approximately fifteen decibels higher and a whole lot funnier than he probably intended it to be, and Nino has to stifle a smile at the sound.

“You make it sound like it’s my choice,” he says instead, not taking his eyes off of the television screen where he’s playing a game that seems to mainly consist of hitting his opponent quite ruthlessly with large implements. Aiba will never understand the human psyche. “And besides, you didn't tell me there were _others_.”

“There weren’t _supposed_ to be,” Aiba says, pouting, and flies over to sit on Nino’s head- partially out of retaliation, and partially out of habit. There is a pause, then a quiet: “It might be- from the _other_ side.”

“ _Demons_?” Nino asks, startled out of distraction for a moment. “I thought you said that they didn’t know about-” he waves a hand, keeping the other on the controller. “- this whole thing. That you were putting up wards to keep it hidden?”

“They shouldn’t know, but you can never be sure with the forces of Evil,” Aiba nods, determined and righteous. Nino wonders if that might be a reason for the visceral reaction he had towards his opponent - something that he is empathetically not going to tell Aiba, because god knows what kind of dramatics his friend will pull in light of _that_ revelation. Nino’s not usually one to not tell someone information that might be important, but something about the prospect of trying to put that moment into words seems...wrong, for reasons that Nino can’t or won’t understand.

Nino smirks instead. “Or maybe it’s _your_ people,” he teases, not really believing it but loathe to miss a chance to tease the angel above him. “And they’re sending someone to pick up your slack.”

Aiba kicks him in the forehead, causing him to yelp and drop his controller, which his opponent on the screen takes vicious advantage of. “You know that would say more about you than it would about me,” he says smugly in the face of Nino’s dark glare, feathered wings gently flapping as he flies to be eye-to-eye with his partner. “Since you’re the one actually capturing these things.”

“I’m good, but I’m not a _miracle_ worker- that’s your area.”

“Oh, shut up. You can’t say that you’re super happy that this random- swooped in and took your statue.”

Nino shrugs. “I mean, I’m not as neurotic about these things as you are,” he says, glib. Aiba persists in staring at him, and after a few moments Nino gives in with a sigh. “But I can’t say that I love the prospect of having competition, especially the fire and brimstone variety.”

“So you _do_ believe that they’re demons!” Aiba crows. Nino smiles, sweet as sugar.

“Well, the guy’s ass was _some_ kind of sin, that’s for sure.” he says, and laughs at Aiba’s expression, conflicted between disgust and amusement.

-

“Nino- _Nino_!”

Nino jerks up in his chair, looking blearily towards the voice calling his name. “There’s still fifteen minutes before the day starts,” he grumbles. Something blisteringly hot is pressed to his cheek, and it takes approximately 0.5 seconds for Nino to process and to grab the mug from Sho’s hand, still barely coherent.

“You’re welcome,” his co-worker (and best friend) says dryly. Nino takes a long drag of his ambrosia, before determinedly snuggling his head into Sho’s obnoxiously toned stomach. “You’re like a motherfucking washboard,” he smothers out to the increasingly wrinkled linen, feeling Sho lifting a hand to run fond fingers through his hair. “Dunno why people are so into it, it feels like it’s trying to exfoliate my skin.”

“You’re being very rude to the person bringing you coffee,” Sho says, no bite in his words.

“Yeah, yeah, thank you very much, Sho-sama, savior of worlds and underpaid kindergarten teachers,” Nino says. “And thank you, Sho-sama’s abs, for being extremely uncomfortable and also for attracting every single parent in a ten-mile radius .”

Sho squats his head, and Nino tilts his face up from being squashed against said abs to look the older boy in the face. He frowns as he takes in the dark circles under Nino’s eyes. “You should really get some more sleep- you’ve been more exhausted than usual lately. Whatever game you’re playing can’t be _that_ interesting.”

“Said like a true geezer,” Nino teases, because he can’t very well explain that it’s not really the gaming - in fact, he’s had less time for games than he’s had since he’d been studying for finals back in high school - it’s the fact that he has to fit his gaming time on top of stealing away with priceless works of art and maybe defeating agents of hell with cute smiles and nice butts.

Sho pokes him in the forehead. “Well, get yourself awake,” he says. “There’s a new kid coming in today, and we’re supposed to meet them in-” he checks his watch, because Sho’s the only person under forty Nino knows who unironically wears an analogue watch and actually _uses_ it. “Five minutes.”

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier? Like, yesterday?”

“I _did_ , multiple times! There was a meeting and everything.”

“Clearly you didn’t try hard enough, since it didn’t stick.”

“ _Brat_ ,” Sho huffs, but he doesn’t protest when Nino cheerfully uses him as a carriage and piggybacks him all the way to the classroom where they’ll meet their newest guest.

At which point Nino nearly falls to the floor, saved only by Sho’s irritatingly muscular forceps, at the sight of a disturbingly familiar butt.

He had no idea how he was going to explain discovering his mortal enemy to Aiba.

-

Teaching wasn't what Nino had envisioned for himself, though he couldn’t deny that it was a far better option than the neverending monotony of being a corporate drone. Sure, it didn’t pay as well - which was almost enough to have struck the prospect from Nino’s mind entirely - but what it lacked in hourly wages it made up for in free time for gaming. Nino had no doubt that he would’ve done _well_ in any profession he went into, but he lacked the necessary ambition to succeed in a corporate hierarchy, as well as the foundation of privilege to be able to choose a less lucrative profession and be able to stick with it until he clawed out the success he was owed.

Fortunately, Sho _did_ have that foundation, and with it a streak of rebellion wide enough to drag his best friend into his dream job: educating the future, apparently. Nino frequently marvelled at how Sho’s stubborn streak and his rebellious kick migrated themselves to _hugging small children_ instead of something less... _fluffy_. At one point, he would have put hard cash on Sho becoming some sort of punk rock starlet, one with a disastrously short shelf life and explosive blowout. But apart from a few (hilarious) piercings, Sho had apparently sidestepped that route altogether, though not without some pointed nudging from Nino, who had no desire to see his friend on the front page of some TMZ-esque website.

All of this was to say that Sho owes everything that he is to Nino, and Nino was going to exact swift and ruthless revenge for him bringing the enemy into his (work) house.

As it turns out, Nino’s epic rival was...adorable, all sleepy eyes and soft tan skin. Nino didn’t put it past him to have matched his aesthetic to Nino’s _exact type_ , the diabolical bastards. In the daylight he hardly cut an imposing figure, maybe even shorter than Nino if Nino had ever decided to, in Sho’s words, ‘uncurl that archway you call your spine’. The shock of seeing him is so stark that it takes Nino a few moments to notice the small child standing in front of him.

“You must be Ohno-san!” Sho says, smiling his homewrecker smile, the one that crushes the hearts of single and not-so-single parents everywhere. Ohno smiles back, his nose scrunching up slightly, and Nino reminds himself that his nose was probably chosen by the literal devil. Sho turns to the small child, still smiling. “And you must be Jun-kun!”

The kid smiles sweetly, and it’s so different from Ohno’s that Nino thinks, with startling surety, that they could not possibly be related. In stark contrast to Ohno’s slightly goofy, absent-minded smile, this kid gave off the impression of knowing _exactly_ what he’s doing with his smile, and, on top of that, probably practises it in the mirror every morning. In fact, everything about this kid seemed to be carefully calculated to achieve maximum ‘adorable child’ effect- his carefully half-messy hair, his tiny, ridiculous purple suit jacket, even his perfectly-placed mole.

“Hello, Sakurai-sensei!” he says, voice saccharine and polite, his eyes fixed on the badge on Sho’s chest.

Sho looks immediately charmed. “You’re very good at your hiragana,” he praises, referring to the badge proclaiming his name on top of his apron. Jun preens at the praise , and Nino takes his chance and smirks at Ohno.

“So, new in the neighbourhood?” he asks, voice deliberately light. Ohno almost looks surprised at being addressed, but there’s no spark of recognition in his gaze as he answers.

“We moved in a week ago,” he said, voice soft but clear. “Matsujun was excited to come to school.”

Nino raises an eyebrow. “Matsujun?”

“It’s a nickname - from his full name.”

Nino furrows his brows, trying to figure out how _Ohno Jun_ became _Matsujun_. Before he can ask, Sho interrupts with a not-so-subtle nudge of his feet, slanting a warning glance at him that tells Nino that this is probably something else that he was supposed to have already known. When he turns to glare at his friend, Sho is pointing Nino out to Jun.

“This is your other sensei,” Sho tells him. “Can you tell me what his name is?”

Jun’s face scrunches up as he looks at the bubbly, child-friendly hiragana on Nino’s own nametag, almost offensively cute.

“Um,” he says, with a smile that butter wouldn’t melt on. “‘Ni’-’no’-’mi’-’ra’-sensei?”

Sho looks over at Nino with a look that says that he’ll be called ‘Ninomira’-sensei until the amusement factor wears off, even as he gently corrects Jun - “It’s Ninomi _ya_ -sensei, Jun-kun- but you got very close!” he adds hurriedly, when Jun’s face drops into the expression that every child-experienced adult can recognise as an incoming storm. Sho’s words seem to calm him down, and he nods once, face scrunched as if he were trying to hold back tears.

Nino doesn’t buy it for a second- his name is only one syllable longer than Sho’s, and they have the same number of hiragana; if Jun had been able to read Sho’s nametag without extreme difficulty, it didn’t follow that he would have such a struggle with Nino’s. Not to mention that ‘ra’ and ‘ya’ didn’t even look alike.

For a moment, Nino wonders if concocting an elaborate conspiracy theory hinging on the fact that a five-year-old may be in cahoots with Satan could be constituted as going too far. Nino mulls over the thought for a moment, then dismisses it. Trust is for the generous, and Nino was an infamous stooge.

“Nino-sensei is fine,” he says. Jun looks over at him, and there is that flash of emotion in his eyes when he sees his face that Nino has to fight not to react to.

The emotion doesn’t look like _recognition_ , exactly, though it’s close enough to put Nino on guard. The part that startled him, though, the true core of the emotion, seemed to be- fury? Contempt? Some strong negative emotion that’s ill-suited for the face of a child.

“Nino-sensei,” Jun repeats, his voice the same sweet tone that he used on Sho. Directed at Nino, though, the words sound more like a threat.

-

It _is_ a threat.

Matsumoto Jun, Nino discovers (after a thorough scolding from Sho involving the words ‘complicated family situation’, ‘that poor Ohno-san’, and ‘this is why you can’t play your DS during work meetings, _Nino_ ’), may be an agent of the devil, but, more importantly, he’s a _dick_.

“Nino, what the hell are you doing,” Sho says, stalking into his classroom one day with his patented Disappointed Dad look. Nino looks up from his DS (he served no man, least of all Sho) innocently.

“Is there anything wrong?” he asks, eyes wide with confusion. Sho gives him a deadpan look in response, before pulling out a pamphlet from his apron pocket and putting it down on the table in front of him.

“ _‘How to Tell if Your Child is Literal Hellspawn’_ , Nino?” he asks rhetorically. “ _Really_?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but whoever made these had the right idea,” Nino idly picks it up, flipping it open and scanning the contents. “I mean, maybe it’ll pacify all those church parents that all low-key think we’re fucking and corrupting their children! A win-win situation.”

“They think _what_ ,” Sho says, as if he’d never noticed that one grandfather who spreads his asshole aura everywhere any time he comes to pick up his (thankfully sweet) granddaughter. “No- actually, you know what? I don’t want to know. He’s just a _kid_ , Nino.”

“He stuffed sand into my underwear!”

“He was trying to hug you after recess!”

“He tried to make me drink paint!”

“Kids play make-believe!”

“He _poured his juice into my bag and destroyed my gameboy_.”

Sho actually winces slightly at that one, but pushes on. “He’s _five_ , he doesn’t have the best motor skills,” he sighs. “I know you like to pretend to have the mentality of a five-year-old, but maybe don’t stoop to his _actual level_.” there’s a beat of silence. “Actually, depressing as it is, I think you’re actually stooping _below_ his level right now.”

“Don’t be such a little bitch,” Nino grouses. “Even if I _did_ make the thing - which I’m definitely not saying I did - it’s not like he can read it. Whoever made this was _very careful_ to use a lot of kanji. Especially for words like ‘devil’,” he pauses. “Or ‘pits of hell’.”

Sho grimaces. “It’s not just Jun- what about Ohno-san? Do you think he’d like having his kid treated like this?”

_I’m trying to warn him_ , Nino doesn’t say. _That’s the_ point.

-

The next heist, Nino is far more careful, slipping past the plentiful security and ducking the whir of swinging blades above his head - apparently this particular art collector was a fan of medieval torture weapons, lovely - without a whisper of noise.

“You can do it if you try, then,” Aiba says into his ear, unimpressed, and Nino smiles.

“This is the boring way,” he informs him, twisting himself into the vents. He crawls along with silent concentration, focusing on the quiet movement of air around him. When he hears a soft _thump_ coming from somewhere above him, he grins.

When the masked Ohno - and yep, that is definitely his ass - swings down from an opening above him, Nino’s there to greet him with a spraycan of knock-out gas and a cheery wave.

“Hey, fanboy-kun!” he greets, watching dispassionately as Ohno slowly sinks to the floor. “Consider this a little thank you gift for last time.”

He tells himself that he doesn’t notice the almost fond look on Ohno’s face as his eyes close, and that his own small smile is definitely not in response.

-

“I’m done with my work, Nino-sensei,” Jun says, carefully polite as he hands Nino his worksheet. Nino scans his eyes over it, noting the (suspiciously) neat letters and the lack of mistakes. Sho thinks he’s a genius. Nino thinks he’s not very subtle.

“Good job,” he tells Jun, handing back his worksheet with a sticker on top.

Another tiny blob tackles him, Satomi looking at him with huge eyes as she holds out her own crumpled worksheet. “Nino-chan, give me a sticker too!”

“It’s Nino- _sensei_ ,” Nino says, taking the sheet out of her hand and raising it above his head to read. “And you got number five wrong, Satomi-chan.”

Satomi looks at him, eyes filling with tears. Before Nino can speak, Jun presses his own carefully-peeled sticker onto her hand. “You can have mine,” he says, quiet, and Satomi looks at him like he’d just rescued her from a fire-breathing dragon on the back of a white horse.

Nino rolls his eyes and peels off another smiley face, poking it onto Jun’s shocked forehead. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “We’re in a civilized country, nobody has to go without stickers.” he pauses. “Especially not children who can get their very scary parents and guardians to shout very loudly at me. Or worse, lower my wages.”

That gets a small giggle out of Satomi, and Nino barely has time to savor his triumph before about a dozen more bratlings pile onto him, all clamoring for stickers of their own.

As Nino lifts Daigo-kun above his head and tells him that no, he can _not_ have a whole sheet of his own, these stickers came out of sensei’s own wallet, and he wasn’t going to hand them over without a fight, he doesn’t notice the considering look Jun gives him, two steps away from everyone else in the room.

(“You have a very smart son,” Nino tells Ohno-san, when he comes to pick Jun up. Ohno smiles at him, then at Jun, putting a hand on his small head that seems to be received with deep resignation.

“Thank you, I’m very proud of him,” Ohno replies, and Nino doesn’t understand why Jun looks so heartbroken in that moment. They go, and Nino doesn’t know if he prefers this ordinary interaction, this illusion that they are ordinary people with ordinary lives, underlaid with too-many evasions and too-careful words, or the open rivalry they have in their other lives, where they create a gulf between them with the truth of their goals.

Either way, something has to give.)

-

The crux of it all, in the end, is the kid. Nino is more sure with each passing day that Jun - too-smart and too-considering and too-much _hatred_ for Nino (because it was hatred he saw, that first day) - couldn’t be a normal kid. Aiba agrees with him, listening to Nino’s descriptions whenever he returns home.

“We have to figure out a way to stop him,”he says, wings fluttering in righteous indignation as he spoke, and Nino had stared at him incredulously.

“Stop him from doing what, going to school?”he asks. “He’s not exactly sacrificing innocent people or growing literal horns in the classroom. He just- seems to really hate me, for some reason.”

“It’s not ‘for some reason’,” Aiba replies. “It’s because you’re working with me, on my side. And you have to stop him from making Ohno steal any more of art for hell.”

Nino looks away at that. Since the weeks after their first meeting, they - Nari and Sammi (which Nino had spread around as a way of mocking him at first, but somehow caught on in the media in the most hilarious misunderstanding of all time), not Nino and Ohno - had seen each other two more times. Once, Nino had managed to steal the work of art from Ohno’s fingertips, but Ohno had gotten the most recent obscenely expensive vase, making them evenly matched once more.

“We don’t even know if Jun is ‘making’ Ohno do anything,” he says, even. “There’s every chance that he’s doing it completely voluntarily.”

Aiba pauses at that, something strange - guilt? - flickering in his eyes before he speaks again. “There’s every chance that he’s not,” he says, almost gentle.

“And what do you expect me to do?” Nino asks, quiet. It’s more than the possibility of Ohno being innocent that bothers him - it’s also Aiba, who’s obviously hiding things from him, even though he’s terrible at it. It’s Jun, who’s kind of a little shit but not- _evil_. Nobody truly evil could light up that much at Sho, who’s pretty much the picture of what an actual saint should look like. Nobody truly evil gives stickers to little girls because they might cry.

“Uh- we’ll figure something out!” Aiba grins at him, cheerful and so, so bright. “After all, we’re partners, right?” he holds out a tiny fist, and after a moment Nino bumps it with his own.

He makes a decision.

-

One of the most definitive pieces of evidence towards Jun not being a normal human child, from what Nino sees, is Ohno’s utter lack of basic parenting skills.

Oh, he obviously loved Jun, there was no doubt about _that_ , but he loved him in a way that seemed to transcend parental duties and the concept of childcare. If it were any other parent, Nino might have felt an obligation to talk to them about things like giving your child something other than weirdly fancy restaurant takeout for lunch, or letting toddlers have those disturbingly large and potentially dangerous rings. Sho certainly seemed to be concerned about it, occasionally awkwardly bumbling something vague and embarrassed out to a completely oblivious Ohno or fretting to an unsympathetic Nino.

One of the habits that marked Ohno as a parent that might have worried Nino normally - the one that he takes advantage of now - is the fact that he seems biologically incapable of picking Jun up at a reasonable time. Apparently, he usually goes fishing after work (illustration, apparently, and that’s a twist of irony) and loses track of time, an explanation which Nino had decidedly not believed - who goes fishing until eight after a full work day? - until he actually got to know Ohno and realized that, yes, this is _exactly_ something he would do.

Usually, it’s Sho who stays late to keep Jun company until Ohno comes to pick him up, both because Jun has an obvious preference and because Nino is a stickler about paid overwork. But the day after Nino has his conversation with Aiba, he offers to stay behind instead.

“...why,” Sho says, suspicious.

Nino waves a hand. “You’ve been on brat-duty this entire week, right?”

“This entire _year_ , but sure.”

“So I figured it was time to cut you some slack, let you go play for once- hit the town, or something. Get blackout drunk.”

“Nino, it’s a Tuesday.”

“Please, that never stopped you right before exams.”

Sho splutters. “That was because _you_ dragged me out and poured tequila down my throat with a funnel, because I ‘needed to get the stick out of my ass’!”

“And you still got a 96 on that exam, didn’t you? So really, you own all your successes to me.”

“That’s not remotely how this works.”

“You say that, but I know your will leaves everything to me.”

“How do you- wait, how did you know I had a will?”

Nino gives him a flat look. “I didn’t, but now that I do know I can’t ever _not_ know. Also your family seems like they’d be into that kind of stuff- I keep forgetting to Google whether overpreparation is an actual kink or not, but if it was it’d be a family trait.”

“You know, you’d think you’d be happier about getting all of my earthly possessions.”

A wave of a dismissive hand. “Please, I’d get my hands on it anyways, one way or another.”

“That’s- incredibly unreassuring,” Sho says. They pause for a moment. “Wait- you’re trying to distract me.”

“Trying implies I didn’t succeed.”

“Well, you _didn’t_. Why do you want to stay with Jun-kun tonight.”

Nino considers his options, then sighs, looking away slightly. “I just- _he’s_ not the one I want to spend more time with.” he plays it up slightly, counting on Sho’s straightforward personality to buy his words at face value- or, at least, the face that Nino wants him to see.

Predictably, Sho’s eyes widen. “Wait, _Ohno-san_?” he splutters. “Nino, he’s- he’s a _parent_! That’s incredibly unprofessional!”

“I didn’t say I was going to jump him,” Nino replies. “Just- look, are you going to let me do it or not?”

One good thing about knowing someone for decades is that you can predict them down to the second, and Nino isn’t surprised at the silence after his words, nor the quiet consideration in Sho’s voice as he replies.

“Alright, just for tonight,” he says, and Nino lets his shoulders untense.

“Thanks, Sho-chan,” he says, quiet but sincere, and if Sho thinks that the reason for it is different from what it actually is- well, at least the sentiment comes through.

-

“I think we need to talk about it.”

Jun looks over at him, eyes steady in the emptiness of the classroom they’ve been left alone in. The picture they make, to an outside observer, might seem ordinary: Nino still in his school apron, curling like a bundle of twigs on a slightly worn beanbag chair, beside him a small, neatly-arranged boy reading a children’s book with careful fingers. An more observant audience might note the creases of tension at the edge of the schoolteacher’s eyes, or the strange grace of the child’s movements, the unsettling stillness. This would not be enough information to divine the truth, of course- but it might begin them in the right direction.

“What are you talking about?” Jun asks, as though he hadn't been expecting this ever since Nino lingered in the room instead of Sho, since Sho had dropped by to ruffle Jun’s hair apologetically, making some vague excuse before closing the door behind him.

Nino scoffs. “Come on, are we really going through the whole process? I’m not a detective in an anime, and you’ve barely been trying to hide.”

Jun hums in agreement. “I suppose,” he says. “But didn’t Aiba tell you not to talk to me?”

“So you know about Aiba?”

He gets a deadpan look in response. “It’s pretty hard _not_ to know him, in all honesty. But yes, I do. We...you could say we grew up together.”

Nino rolls this information around in his mind, considers the implications of it.

“You’re not- a demon,” he says, feeling foolish for the fairytale words. Jun scoffs.

“Hardly,” he tilts his head. “And if I were, so would he.”

“So you’re an angel.”

“Did he tell you that? Well, I suppose explaining the actual metaphysical implications of our existence is a little - _much_ \- for a human to grasp, so ‘angel’ is as good a word as any.”

Nino has a lot of questions, but he blurts out the most important one without thought, something like betrayal a sharp needle in his chest. “Why did he _lie_ to me?”

Jun shrugs. “Because you probably wouldn’t have continued to do your-” he grimaces. “- _job_ , if you knew?” a beat passes between them. “That’s why I lied to Ohno, anyways.”

“You-”

“Told him the same thing Aiba told you,” Jun confirms.

Nino takes a long look at him, trying to gauge the extent of his sincerity. Finally, he asks: “So why are you telling me the truth now? If it is the truth, anyways.”

Jun shrugs. “It’s almost time, anyways. I don’t really see the point of dragging this on.”

Nino furrows his brows. “I- what do you mean, ‘almost time’?”

“What do you think I mean? You two are almost done with your jobs.”

“That doesn’t-” Nino, in a display of rare wordlessness, splutters. “That doesn’t remotely make sense. We, what, managed to destroy the collective forces of evil via art objects in the span of six months? That’s not even a full season of anime! We haven’t even gotten to a _miniboss_ yet.”

Jun looks over at him with obvious befuddlement. “Are those real words?”

“Jesus christ, it’s not as if I’m speaking in memes, why does everyone in my life have the collective vocabulary of a sixty-year-old?” Nino grouses. “But my point stands: this doesn’t make any sense!”

“That’s because you’re assuming that it’s a race against hell,” Jun says, strangely patient. “But it’s not. It’s a lot smaller than that.”

“So, what, it’s a scavenger hunt between you and Aiba?” Nino guesses. “And Ohno and I are what, your puppets?”

“Always so cynical,” Jun mutters. “ _That_ hasn’t changed.”

Nino frowns. “What do you-”

“Jun-kun?”

Ohno is knocking at the clear glass door, a look of mild puzzlement on his face. Jun stands up from his beanbag chair, dusting off his tiny expensive-looking jeans. “You should talk to Aiba,” he says.

Nino considers him, then purses his lips. “Just one more question,” he says. “If this is between you and Aiba, why do you hate me so much?”

Jun doesn’t look back at him as he walks away. “Because you’re trying to win, and you don’t deserve to. Because I’m not going to let you take everything from him because of your _ego_ , again.” he pauses on the way to the door, and his voice is flinty. “I don’t hate you anymore, but I can’t let you win. And if you’ve learned anything at all, you wouldn’t let yourself win, either.”

When he opens the door to greet Ohno, Nino feels shaken with something that he can’t understand. When Ohno looks at him, he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“See you later, Nino,” Ohno says, painfully gentle. Nino looks at his feet, trying not to catalogue the cadence of his voice.

“Yeah,” he says, hollow, and turns so he doesn’t have to watch them walk away.

-

Nino has never seen Aiba as still as he is when he tells him about Jun.

“That wasn’t a good idea, Nino,” he says, and Nino wonders why he can't meet anyone’s eyes today.

“You were lying to me,” he points out. Aiba flinches, but then stands even straighter, determination in the line of his figure.

“To _protect_ you!”

“From _what_?” Nino snaps, and the echo of his voice echoes around his sparse living room.

Aiba breathes in, impossibly loud in the silence that deafens after Nino’s words.

“From losing your home,” he whispers, and begins to explain.

-

The last heist takes place under a new moon, and Nino can almost see the stars in the darkness of the sky. He’s waiting by the painting, sitting cross-legged in front of it, mask off, when Ohno arrives.

“Nino,” Ohno says, not seeming surprised by his identity.

“You knew?”

A shrug. “No, but I wasn’t surprised.”

“Yeah,” Nino murmurs. “You wouldn’t be.”

“You’re early,” Ohno comments, and Nino smiles wearily at him.

“It’s our last performance, I thought I’d do something special.”

He pushes himself to his feet. Takes a step forward.

“Did Jun tell you?”

Ohno tilts his head at him. “He told me that it would be ending, tonight,” he says. “He told me that you might want to talk to me.”

Nino laughs like it’s been punched out of him. “Of course he did. He’s assuming that I’d tell you myself, give you your warning.” he draws a hand through his hair, pulling at his ponytail. “He’s assuming that I’d have enough decency to let you win.”

Ohno just keeps looking steadily at him, like he’s not perturbed by Nino’s apparent breakdown at all.

“Are you?”

Nino takes another step forward. And another. Until he and Ohno are standing toe-to-toe. Slowly, he lifts a hand, touches the curve of Ohno’s cheek, slowly slides off the veil that covers his face. He drops it to the ground. He looks at him, at the dips and angles that make up his dear features, and takes a step backwards. Holds his hands out in a gesture of resignation.

“Either way, I lose,” he says. Another short burst of laughter. “Do you know, Ohno-san? What happens to an angel when they commit a crime?” he doesn’t let Ohno answer. “They’re turned into pure energy, and fed to the earth as penance. It’s not that bad, really.”

His hands curl into fists. “It wouldn’t have been that bad,” he whispers. “But you loved me, and you pleaded for me.”

There is something in Ohno’s eyes now, a dawning familiarity that Nino knows down to the core of him. He doesn’t _remember_ , of course, but he somehow knows.

“You gave up your place there,” and he can't say heaven, not anymore, because he knows now that that’s not what it is, not really. But there’s no other way to describe it, either, except _home_. “Gave me your existence so we could both become human.”

He sucks in a breath. “There’s a way for us to go back,” he says. “That’s why they came down. Aiba loved me - before, and Jun loved you. They wanted to help us get back. But there’s only so much residual energy on earth to go around.”

“And if we don't?” Ohno asks, voice only betraying the slightest tremor. Nino makes a waving motion.

“Reincarnation,” he says. “Or- not exactly? We would be broken down into our most basic components, become part of a energy soup. Whatever is born might have a few particles of us, but not enough for it to be considered _us_ , in any meaningful way.”

“So, the same thing,” Ohno says, and Nino grins sharply.

“Yeah, apparently other you didn’t think this thing through,” he says lightly. “Since the end result will be basically the same either way.”

He steps to the side. Holds a hand out to the painting behind them. “So don’t make all of this for nothing.”

“You’re- letting me win?” Ohno says, something sharper than Nino’s ever heard from him in his voice. Nino forces his own voice to stay steady.

“Like I said,” he says. “I’m losing either way, so might as well make it worth something.”

Ohno looks at him, and it makes Nino feel known. That must mean something. That must be worth this.

“I did,” Ohno says, suddenly.

Nino blinks. “Did what?”

Instead of answering, Ohno strides forward. Reaches Nino, tugs him in.

His lips taste familiar, and Nino can almost remember the impression of tears. _Do angels cry?_ He wonders, winding his arms around Ohno, curling fingers into his hair instinctively. _Did I cry?_

When Ohno pulls back, he’s smiling.

“I didn’t,” he repeats. “ _He_ didn’t. Not think it through.”

When Nino just gives him an unimpressed look, Ohno laughs, a snorting, puppylike noise that cuts Nino to the bone.

“He wanted- I wanted- time, with you.” Ohno explains. “He- I- _knew_ , we had to. But it was still worth it. Because we would get to have more time with you.”

Nino laughs, a little hysterical. “We had _millenia_ ,” he says, though he isn’t sure if they did- it was a long time, surely, but he can only know the feeling of continuity rather than any concrete sense how long it was. “And you gave more millenia for- decades? Years?”

Ohno looks unrepentant. “Better than nothing,” he says, resolute.

“This is ridiculous,” Nino says. “You can’t- you _have_ to go back. Jun-”

“- came down without asking me for permission,” Ohno finishes. “Just like Aiba didn’t ask _you_ for permission.”

“So screw them?” Nino says. “For caring about our eternal souls?”

Ohno has the decency to look slightly embarrassed at that. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” he says.

“But screw them, is what you’re saying,” Nino says, and there’s something like glee in his voice, though it’s edged with a good dose of hysteria. “We’ll just- slum it out. Live out our earthly lives together, then go kaput.”

Ohno scrunches his nose at him. “I mean, I’d like to take you out on a date first?” he says. “Just in case. You’re cute, but I’m not promising eternity before dinner.”

Nino actually does laugh at that, so hard he doubles over, fists clenched in Ohno’s vest. “You,” he gasps out. “Are _ridiculous_. And besides, I’d think our heists count as dates.”

“You knocked me out in one!”

“So you’re lacking in stamina, happens to the best of us.”

They giggle against each other for a moment, then Nino speaks again.

“So who’s telling AIba and Jun?”

-

“So, Jun-kun’s-”

“Moved back with his mother,” Ohno completes, smiling at Sho serenely. Sho looks at him. Sighs.

“Okay,” he says, sounding a little sad. “I will miss him, he was a good kid. You did a good job, Ohno-san.”

“You’re a very good person,” Ohno says, and Sho blushes under his warm regard. Then, without warning, he curls his hands around Sho’s shoulders in a sudden hug. Pulling back, he grins, huge on his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re- welcome?” Sho blinks, and Ohno smiles sweetly at him for a moment before pausing. Making a sound of realization.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a long, thin pendant. “This is from him.”

“A...necklace?” Sho blinks. “I can’t accept this, it looks expensive!”

“It’s from me, too,” Ohno says. “Please, take it.”

There’s something in his voice that gives Sho pause, and he considers the thin silver chain, the small feather suspended in amber hanging from the middle.

“Alright,” he says. “Thank you.”

When he shows the pendant to Nino, there’s a smile on Nino’s face that looks like a secret, soft and pleased.

“It suits you,” he says, simply.

“I’ll miss them, though,” Sho admits. “Both of them.”

“W- _ell_ ,” Nino drawls out. “I can't make any promises for Jun, but I have a feeling that you’ll be seeing Oh-chan again soon enough.”

“Oh-chan- _Nino_ , what the hell did you do?”

“I made the right choice,” Nino grins, and his smile is so bright that Sho can’t help but return it.

(“You know,” Nino says to Aiba and Jun and Ohno, the four of them sat on the couch, hours after their choice. “If you know some way to- transfer power, or something, I know someone who’d make a better angel than the two of us combined.”)


End file.
